


Sundial

by joss80



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beach Holidays, First Kiss, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nude Beach, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 22:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18600421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joss80/pseuds/joss80
Summary: While on holiday, Sherlock calls John to an investigation on a nude beach. John is not impressed.Based on the prompt request "a nude beach story with a gloriously nude Sherlock and star-struck John."





	Sundial

**Author's Note:**

> For Sudarshana - I hope this delivers, my dear! :)

The incoming text sounded at just after 3pm, right in the middle of John’s much-anticipated afternoon nap. He reached for his phone with a few choice swear words, and swiped across the screen to unlock it.

_Come at once. Warton Glen Naturist Beach. Bring a hat. SH_

His angry scowl morphed into a wide-eyed stare as the words fit together in his sluggish mind. What on _earth_ was Sherlock up to? Here they were on the Sussex coast, finally taking a break from cases and on a holiday that John had insisted on and Sherlock had only agreed to because of the lure of several bee farms nearby, and now he was being summoned - in the middle of his nap - to a nude beach?

John considered, for the shortest of seconds, turning his phone off and turning back over on the bed - but he knew Sherlock, and he also knew that his nap was over. Curiosity and practicality won out, so he mentally raised a middle finger towards his friend and rolled out of bed instead. 

Three minutes later he was in a taxi, straw sunhat in hand, headed for the beach.

* * * * *

The second text notification sounded as John was climbing out of the taxi. He looked around as he dug his phone out of his jeans pocket. The parking lot was secluded, surrounded by tall brush and shrub, and there was a sandy trail just ahead of him that presumably led down towards the water.

 _Just a reminder that this is a_ naturist _beach. SH_

He shot one back immediately.

_You want me to get naked? Seriously?_

_I expect you’ll want to get naked if you don’t want to stick out. SH_ pinged out mere seconds later.

Bollocks.

Literally.

John shuffled down the shrub-lined path, and as he approached the beach he came across a bench. It seemed like as good a place as any to take his clothes off and so he did. He hadn’t been this naked in public since his army days, and even that wasn’t really in public, so he put his hat on his head and held his folded clothing in front of his groin and ambled out onto the beach. He still wondered what on earth Sherlock was up to, and it was only when he spotted the two wood-and-canvas beach chairs about a hundred metres away that it occurred to him that Sherlock would be naked too.

Oh god.

He gulped down a breath and tried to both steady and prepare himself mentally. He’d seen the man swan about their flat in towels and bedsheets enough times, but he’d never been completely naked and John had always been clothed… and there were certain body reactions that one was able to hide behind, for a time at least, with trousers on. Sherlock had talked about being married to his work, but John had made no such statements. There was, of course, the not-so-small matter of him repeatedly claiming to be straight-up heterosexual, and he wondered just how bad of a beating his attempt at self-preservation was about to take.

He was almost to the chairs - empty ones at that - when a brilliantly white object down by the water caught his attention. He held up his spare hand to better shield his eyes, and as the object moved closer he made out the shape of a gloriously nude Sherlock Holmes.

John’s mouth fell open only slightly more slowly than the rate at which his clothes fell out of his grasp and onto the ground.

“John!” Sherlock called out with a cheery smile and a wave, and it was all John could do to stay standing. The gawking was happening, there was no way around that, but he managed to hold himself upright on one of the chairs and a second later thought to remove his hat and cover his nether regions with it. He wasn’t ready for this, not at all, and he was having the struggle of his life and not over a foe in a dark alley somewhere. Oh no, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? No, the struggle of his life was the difficulty of trying to tear his eyes away from Sherlock’s dangling _cock_ so he could meet the man’s gaze.

His focus rose, ever-so-slowly and regretfully, upwards along the trail of hair to his friend’s navel, and further still across the broad, pale plains of his torso and chest and, finally, up the long exposed neck and over familiar sharp cheekbones until he landed on Sherlock’s eyes… eyes that sparkled with some sort of mirth in their deep, multi-coloured depths.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” John asked, even more embarrassed than before at the undeniable and extensive once-over he’d just given the man in front of him. “Why the hell are we here anyway?” He tried to cover it up with gruffness but it had little effect, and it had absolutely no effect on the telltale stirrings that he could feel going on under his sunhat. 

“This morning’s newspaper had a story about a local homicide involving a perpetrator with a hidden tattoo. I dug around online and discovered that a man fitting the description frequents this beach, and today is a particularly nice day so….” Sherlock trailed off, suddenly looking a little less sure of himself as his eyes wondered over John’s well-defined body and down to his hat.

John squinted at him. “Let me get this right: we’re here, naked, on the off chance that a dangerous criminal might be here too, also naked, and your plan is what, exactly? Go skinny dipping with everyone and hope that you spot something?”

“You were asleep and I found something to do.” Sherlock almost looked indignant, but John wasn’t buying it.

“I came here in the hopes of a nice, relaxing holiday, and now we’re naked on a beach and trying to get up close to _other_ naked people? I swear, this sort of stuff only happens with you, Sherlock.” John closed his eyes in frustration, breathed in deeply, and tried not to grimace.

“And yet I’ll wager that it’s still more interesting than your nap.” Sherlock’s voice dropped an octave, right out of the blue, and a chill ran through John’s body in spite of the warm day. When his eyes opened again he found that they’d made their way to Sherlock’s groin once more.

The second most urgent struggle of his life - or in recent memory, at least - became apparent immediately thereafter as he felt his rapidly-developing erection twitch against the brim of his sunhat.

“Fuck.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sherlock’s voice was both surprised and strangely curious, much to John’s chagrin.

“I just… where are the other people, anyway?” John asked, as he managed to wrench his gaze towards the rest of the empty beach in an attempt to throw Sherlock off.

“Don’t change the subject, John, and tell me what’s going on under that hat of yours.”

It was easy to look at Sherlock properly this time as John’s narrowed eyes met his. Every instinct in his body screamed for him to avoid, to misdirect, to get the hell out of there while he still could, but it only took the one exhausted thought of _enough, now_ to make him stay put and own up to the truth.

“What the hell do you expect from me, Sherlock?” John eventually sighed, as the last of the resistance slipped out of his body. “You’re bloody gorgeous, and you’ve got your bits all hanging out for the world to see. I’m only human.”

The ridiculously satisfied grin that spread across Sherlock’s face was quite in counterpoint to the softening of his green-blue eyes.

“So,” Sherlock observed quietly, “ _not_ not gay, John?”

“Yeah, not completely, alright?” He hung his head, which was unfortunately the only part of him hanging at that moment.

“I’m flattered” Sherlock admitted softly, and John’s head whipped up to look at the man.

“Really?” John wondered, confused. “Doesn’t this make things awkward? I mean, you’re, er, _at rest_ while my cock is on its way to becoming a bloody sundial.”

Sherlock appeared pensive for a moment, before he lowered his chin and looked at John in a strangely seductive way. “We’d probably have two sundials if you put your hat back on your head.”

John’s mouth fell open for the second time in as many minutes, and he felt a warm flush spread across his body as he studied the man in front of him.

“Oh,” he said, his head suddenly spinning with possiblities. “Oh. Okay. Um, good to know.”

And then they both stood there awkwardly for a while, not knowing quite what to do after such radical revelations on both their parts.

Sherlock eventually gestured vaguely towards John’s sand-covered clothes.

“I suppose we can get dressed and go, since nobody else is out here right now.”

And John, who found himself both relieved and oddly disappointed, nodded in agreement.

They ventured back towards the bench, got dressed while politely facing in opposite directions, and a taxi was there by the time they got back to the start of the trail. How Sherlock had hailed it without making a call, John didn’t know, but he was grateful for the immediate escape from all things naturist and a quick return to their hotel and its fully-clothed guests.

* * * * *

John was highly unamused when Sherlock hurried them back into their hotel room and closed the door behind them with a resounding _thud_.

“We need to debrief,” he announced.

“I think we’ve done quite enough _de-briefing_ for today, Sherlock,” John said sarcastically, but he couldn’t quite help the smirk that took over his mouth.

Sherlock regarded him carefully. “Right. Poor choice of words.” He paused and stood stock still for a good few seconds, and John just raised a knowing eyebrow and waited him out. He finally snapped back into the present, and fixed an uncharacteristically nervous gaze on John. “Can we talk about what happened earlier?”

“Which part, Sherlock?” John asked casually, as he turned to put his sunhat away. “The part where you reneged on our holiday deal by trying to chase a case, or the part where we both ended up naked in public and confessing attraction to each other? Hmmmm?”

John turned back to him, and Sherlock had the decency to blush.

“I’m sor-”

“No you’re not,” John interrupted him, and reached for the newspaper that was lying on a side table. He thumbed through it, not really searching per se as his brain worked, and then tossed it back down. “Is there really a mysteriously-tattooed murderer wandering around?”

He watched as Sherlock drew in a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And did you really expect to see him at the beach this afternoon?”

Sherlock let the breath out, and swallowed. “No.”

“So,” John said, and he fairly stalked up to Sherlock until they were nose-to-nose, and crossed his arms in front of the man, “would it be fair to say that the whole _point_ of your little exercise out there was to see what kind of reaction I’d have to your naked body?”

Sherlock visibly blanched in front of him, his already-pale face losing colour in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel so good to be called out on something, does it?” John added for emphasis. He was right pissed off at having being exposed, literally and figuratively, like that.

“I had to know,” Sherlock blurted out suddenly, his tone so uncharacteristically urgent that it stopped John’s mental tirade in its tracks. “I didn’t know how to broach the subject without risking our friendship, and this presented me with the ideal opportunity.”

“An experiment?” John asked sharply, and he felt his anger returning. The number of conversations they’d had about him not wanting to be part of experiments was uncountable. The look in his friend’s eyes told a different story, though.

“A watershed event, if you will,” Sherlock beseeched him. “A moment that would tell me if there was any chance of pursuing something more with you.”

John didn’t know whether to laugh or beat his fists against the man’s chest. It was all so _Sherlock_ that he almost couldn’t find it in himself to be truly upset with the man, but it was still so unorthodox that he wasn’t quite able to just simply get over the feeling of being violated somehow.

“So what do you want to do, then?” John asked, as he tried to work through his own emotions about the past hour or two. “I always thought you were married to your work?”

A small, tentative smile stole over Sherlock’s face. “I do believe that, from the very beginning, I invited you to be my partner in all things work-related, ergo -”

“Oh god, really?” John interrupted, covering his face with his hand and shaking his head slowly. He eventually drew his hand downwards and over his chin, and looked up at Sherlock again after rolling his eyes. “That was Sherlock-speak for-”

“I’d like to take you to dinner, John.”

The man’s voice was deep and smooth and inviting, and John was suddenly and terribly aware of just what kind of reaction he was having to it… and of what kind of reaction he’d always had to it. He felt like a helpless fish in a Sherlock net, destination uncertain, but what a ride it was likely to be. 

John uncrossed his arms slowly, deliberately, and nodded.

“Okay.”

* * * * *

They ended up at the nearest pub, and after dinner and dessert and drinks and good conversation, John suggested they wander down to the waterfront and Sherlock quickly agreed. There hadn’t been much overt flirting on either of their parts at dinner, something for which John was strangely grateful, and the awkwardness of the afternoon had blended into a familiar comfortableness over the re-visiting of favourite old adventures and admissions over certain things that neither had let slip before. The fondness they held for each other was blindingly obvious, though, and as they walked John couldn’t help but notice the way their shoulders bumped together and their hands brushed against each other every few steps. Every touch sent a spark through his body, and although he wasn’t quite ready to grab hold of Sherlock’s hand he didn’t exactly put more distance between them either.

It was a warm night, but being that it was mid-week they had the place almost to themselves. They both naturally gravitated towards the pier ahead of them, and walked out towards the end in relative silence as the sounds of the town behind them faded with the rolling waves beneath. John took a moment to look around. It was dark out there, but the stars above them were out and Sherlock was -

“What on earth are you doing?” he asked, somewhat alarmed to see the man half-hanging over the railing next to him.

“Starfish,” Sherlock announced as he righted himself, as if that made all the sense in the world.

John stared him down and widened his eyes pointedly.

Sherlock seemed to get the message pretty quickly. “Oh. Um, I was here earlier today,” he explained. “There are starfish attached to the posts of the pier. I can’t see them now, unfortunately - it’s too dark and the tide is higher.”

John wasn’t sure if this was a good time to figuratively poke at things or not, given the lovely dinner they’d just had, but something in him couldn’t resist. He hadn’t, after all, quite forgiven Sherlock for the afternoon’s events.

“You were here earlier,” he mused, as if to himself. Then more blatantly, in Sherlock’s direction, “Was that right before the nudist beach excursion, then?”

He didn’t need light to know that Sherlock had paled again. The man’s momentary silence said enough. John rested his arms on the railing and leaned forward to look out to sea, waiting, and he felt more than saw Sherlock echo the pose next to him. Their elbows knocked against each other as Sherlock got situated, and John felt his attitude soften slightly.

“I truly am sorry,” Sherlock said to the incoming waves, and this time John believed him. “I should have _grown a pair_ , as you like to say, and found a more natural situation in which to ask you. I was inappropriate, and I beg your forgiveness.”

John couldn’t help the good-natured laugh that escaped his mouth. Sherlock turned his head, looking slightly aghast, but John met his gaze and grinned.

“No, no, sorry,” John apologized as he caught his breath. “It’s just a bit ironic, isn’t it? Your _pair_ are part of what got us here in the first place, and as for natural settings….”

A matching grin slowly blossomed on Sherlock’s face, and John reached up a hand to Sherlock’s shoulder.

“All is forgiven, just don’t try something like that again.”

Sherlock nodded, and their smiles faded as their gazes held. John found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away, and his body froze when he felt Sherlock’s hand at his waist.

“Would something like this be more agreeable?” Sherlock asked quietly, and John managed a shy smile as he ducked his head. This was too perfect and too much and not quite enough at the same time, and the fact that it was happening between the two of them was mind-boggling. He’d long ago accepted the fact that he’d be spending the rest of his days dealing with unrequited feelings, and yet here they were and Sherlock was being so eloquent and gracious and apologetic and _kissing his forehead??_

John’s head jerked up, only to meet the dark eyes in front of him.

“Too much?” Sherlock’s deep baritone sounded in almost a whisper, but John shook his head slowly.

“Just surprised me, is all,” he admitted.

“So… it’s okay then?” Sherlock seemed to need confirmation, and John grinned again.

“Sherlock, so long as we’re not flashing our naked bits in public it’s f-”

His last word was swallowed up by the sudden and firm press of Sherlock’s mouth against his. All thought, hesitation, _everything_ fled in that moment except for the knowledge that Sherlock was kissing him, and the feeling of those soft lips moving over his. Sherlock pulled away slightly after a few moments, but John pulled him right in again with a hand to the back of his head.

And _oh god_ the feeling of those curls running through his fingers, and a long-fingered hand around his back pulling them closer together, and the tip of a tongue brushing against his lips.... John was in heaven as he opened his mouth and let their tongues tangle and dance, and he felt arousal spike sharply when Sherlock let out a low moan.

The sunhat would have been handy round about now if they’d still been at that beach but, in light of their clothing and current situation, he pressed himself as close as possible to Sherlock and ran his other hand over the silky shirt covering his chest.

“John,” Sherlock breathed out against his lips, and John redoubled his efforts to kiss all sense out of the wonderful, crazy man in his arms. There was no shutting off the torrent of emotion and affection and pure _need_ between them, and John was all too happy to move blindly as Sherlock slowly pushed him backwards and into the corner of the railing near them. He felt a supporting arm and hand wind up his back as Sherlock bent over him, and John leaned ever-so-slightly backwards as their bodies pressed together from toe to chest. His eyes popped open and widened at the feel of their groins brushing together, and at the evidence of the desire between them, and Sherlock chuckled low in his throat as he pressed kisses along John’s neck.

“Still okay?” Sherlock asked, but it was more joking than anything else, and John was trying to get his offline brain to come up with a witty retort when he heard a very loud and very-obviously-aimed-at-them wolf whistle from not too far off in the distance.

John froze, his frazzled thoughts immediately turning to arrest for public indecency, but Sherlock merely curled his lips around the lobe of John’s ear and asked, “Somewhere less public, hmm?”

The touch, the voice, the heady scent of Sherlock so close to him... it all almost melted John back into ignorant oblivion, but then he heard the whistle again along with some laughter, and someone yelled “Get a room!” and it suddenly sounded like the best idea in the world.

They made quick work of the walk back to their hotel, John with his head ducked down self-consciously and Sherlock actually giggling at the situation as they held hands along the road. Sherlock manhandled John into their room for the second time that day, but this time nobody was upset or complaining when he shut the door behind them. It seemed they both had the same idea, as Sherlock started removing his shoes in the semi-dark and John hopped around for a few moments with his trousers halfway down his legs. And as much as he wanted to take things into his own hands when he saw Sherlock unbuttoning his own shirt, John hoped there would be time for taking things slow later. He just wanted to get naked with the man, and do so as quickly as possible. Any doubts or first-time-with-a-man anxieties were washed away by the delicious high of anticipation and excitement. John soon turned to face Sherlock while clad only in his pants, to find that the other man was similarly attired.

“Excellent,” was all that Sherlock thought to say before he was practically _on_ John, and then they were back in the frenzy of lust that they’d reluctantly put on hold back at the pier. John sank his fingers into Sherlock’s hair again as their bodies pressed together, and Sherlock’s hands flew everywhere, seemingly having trouble with which part of John’s body to explore first. They settled on his arse, and gave such an erotic squeeze that John bucked forward into him and swore under his breath.

“Holy fuck!” came out a lot louder seconds later as Sherlock unabashedly gripped at the waistband of his pants and pushed them down, and John quickly reciprocated. His hands lingered over the curve of Sherlock bottom as he did away with the man’s dark pants, and the two men found themselves very naked and very turned on and very much rubbing up against each other rather shamelessly a moment later.

John managed to steer them towards one of the double beds as Sherlock licked into his mouth, and they fell onto the mattress without pause. John could feel Sherlock better now that the man was underneath him, and he reached between them to touch what he’d been ogling at the beach. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his mouth as his fingers closed around Sherlock’s cock, but he thrilled at the moan that came out of Sherlock’s at the same time.

Then, suddenly, Sherlock was shifting, and one of the bedside lamps clicked on. John blinked at the sudden brightness, but Sherlock was back a second later and kissing him into acquiescence.

“I just want to see you,” he murmured against John’s skin, and John - cognizant of the image of _Naked Sherlock_ that had been haunting his every moment since the afternoon - rolled to the side and propped himself up on an elbow. His eyes skipped, completely unapologetically, over Sherlock’s torso to take in the sight of the man’s cock, temptingly erect and nestled in copper-dark curls. John swallowed, wondering for the first time in his life about what it would actually be like to give a blow job. When he met Sherlock’s eyes again, he could see the same hunger mirrored there and he watched with bated breath as Sherlock reached down and gave John’s cock a firm and smooth stroke.

“Oh god.” The sound that came out of John was an embarrassing gurgle, but he didn’t care. He just wanted more.

“Please, can we…?” 

Sherlock nodded and, the next thing John knew there was darkness again and Sherlock was pulling him on top of his body once more.

John knew how to do this part, and was glad for the familiar movement as he fit his legs between Sherlocks and thrust their hips together. Their cocks slid over each other, smooth but dry for lack of lubrication, and it was just about the best thing he’d ever felt. Sherlock quickly licked at his hand and spread the moisture between them, and it eased things for a few minutes as John kissed him and drew ragged breaths from both of them as the tension in their bodies increased. John could feel it knotting tighter and tighter in his pelvis, and he desperately hoped that Sherlock was getting there too.

“Are you -?” he managed to breathe out between thrusts, and he moaned as Sherlock’s hips rose to meet his.

A long and low “John….” was all he got in reply, as good as a _yes_ as Sherlock moistened his fingers again and reached between their bodies to take them both in hand. John almost crumpled on top of him at the intimate sensation, and a moment afterwards he was pushing as hard as he could against Sherlock and seeking out every ounce of friction as his brain short-circuited and his body dumped endorphins everywhere and he came hard with Sherlock’s name on his lips.

He was vaguely aware of Sherlock saying his name, slightly more aware of a hot wetness against his stomach, and then he opened his eyes to the most beautiful sight of Sherlock with his head thrown back in similar ecstasy seconds later.

John grinned lazily and let his head drop down to Sherlock’s chest. If that was only the first of many, and it had been _that_ amazing, he couldn’t wait to see what the next experience would bring.

“Are you okay?” came from above him, and John realized that Sherlock had no idea if he was smiling or frowning. He raised his head to meet those gorgeous eyes, and leaned up a bit further to kiss those reddened lips.

“Perfect. Never been better,” John said against him. “I'll admit, sometimes good things come from your crazy ideas.”


End file.
